New Blog Site!

Hello beautiful friends!

I have changed the domain of my blog to snowflakesandroses.com! I will be posting there from now on. Come check it out :)

See you soon,

Cassidy

Thankfulness

And the foxes in the vineyard will not steal my joy

Because you are good to me, good to me...

                                —Audrey Assad

I need to write today because thankfulness is radiating in my heart. More so than any other Thanksgiving, this year I feel truly, tirelessly grateful for my life and the blessings sprinkled throughout it. This Thanksgiving is so different from any other I've had, but love is abounding at this feast. No, I'm not at my house in the cozy atmosphere of snowy Colorado, but I know I'm loved, and I am thankful for the time to reflect on my thankfulness here at my aunt's lovely Carlsbad home.

The greatest of all Thanksgiving gifts was that my dad flew into San Diego yesterday on a last minute non-rev flight, stayed for a total of 17 hours, and left again at 4 am this morning, all so he could see me, since I hadn't seen him since August. That act of love makes my heart sing. I know what a sacrifice it was for him to do that, but I know he wanted to do it more than anything. Though my relationship with my dad has never been perfect (no relationship is), I know that he loves me and does what he does out of genuine love. Being away from home at the holidays is hard, but now I see that this is what makes the holidays so much more special. What matters is the people you're with. The fact that I have family—that I have a place to be right now—is amazing. I'm so blessed and happy right now Lord. It's hard, life is unpredictable, and I hurt, but this is so beautiful.

The train ride here to my aunt's house made me cry. Really, the train was surging along the coast right as the sun was setting, the perfect Switchfoot song was playing in my ears, and it was all too much. The utter beauty of the pink sky reflecting on the baby blue and white foamy ocean brought tears to my eyes. The train conductor came on the loud speaker and told everyone to put away their phones and look at the gift that is the sunset, and I agreed. I needed that moment so desperately, I needed that mini breakdown caused by nothing else except the beauty of creation. I think my heart had a little eruption. Maybe that is what true thankfulness is like: to know I don't deserve any of this, but knowing I am so loved by a Father who will paint the sky for me anyways, even though I'm just me. My tears were coming from a genuine place of awe and gratitude in my soul, and I pray that I will allow that small offering of praise to happen within me more often.

I am thankful today Lord. I am thankful for a place to call home, thankful for the mysteriousness that is urban California, thankful for the ocean at dusk, the shadowy palm trees against the pink sky, the hustle and bustle of car lights and people journeying home, thankful for the train, for the people and the diversity. I am thankful for my dad and his guitar playing and his hugs. I am thankful today.

Though life is hard and I so often feel unthankful, I know I have the ability to write and read and think and feel and love, and really, those are the things that make life real, so what more do I really need. My family will always be loving me in their quiet, abundant ways. God will never fail. So let me breathe and rest in joy and gratitude. I am in this wild journey till the end.

what a neat rock!

Pannikin coffee, tea, and chocolate chip coffee cake!!

You've got the better part of me, always have and always will.

                                              —Anberlin

Life By The Sea

I am in love with the Ocean, lifting her thousands of white hats in the chop of the storm, or lying smooth and blue, the loveliest bed in the world. In the personal life, there is 

always grief more than enough, a heart-load for each of us on the dusty road. I suppose there is a reason for this, so I will be patient, acquiescent. But I will live nowhere except here, by Ocean, trusting equally in all the blast and welcome of her sorrowless, salt self.

—Mary Oliver

Ahh. Here I am, sitting on my simple lil dorm bed, thinking and writing and feeling sad but so joyful and knowing I'm okay. I'm missing my mama and sissy who just left a few hours ago after an adventurous, fun-filled parents weekend of exploring my San Diego city, so I'm indulging in some much needed personal blogging and tea time. I have learned SO MUCH within the past seven weeks, and I can confidently say that I feel at home, that I love it here, that I wouldn't want to be anywhere else. I think the biggest lesson I've learned is to have grace with myself and take time for self-care. In college, I've found, it's super easy to be hard on myself and overly disciplined, but I have to keep in mind that I'm in the middle of the biggest life-transition I've ever gone through. I make mistakes every day, and I'm still learning how to be on my own, but it is a beautiful change, and I'm in awe of the transformation that has gone on in my heart.

My new favorite thing to do is climb down the cliffs (by way of rope) to Garbage Beach (which is a two minute walk from my dorm), with my camera and journal, early in the morning. Sometimes the sky is a cloudy blanket of blue-gray, and I dig my feet into the sand and bask in the castles of cliffs that surround me. And there is the sea, leaving a trail of foam and magic and salty stardust. A beating heart, a churning soul.

I realize I will be challenged here. My faith will be questioned, and I will question--but it is good, and I pray you will lead me to the truth Lord. I know you are truth. In this place, in this beautiful place where I feel so alive and loved, I seek to know you and know truth.

Right now, my heart is like these waves. Right now, there is no place more perfect for me to ponder my faith. My Colorado heart loves the mountains because they know who they are. The mountains are quiet and confident, majestic and strong, trustworthy and constant. But the ocean, it is restless. The ocean is uncertain in a steadfast way. The ocean knows it will reach the shore eventually, but it doesn't always know how or why or when. The ocean longs for something greater. The ocean is never satisfied with itself, it must always be changing--growing, shrinking, leaping, resting. The ocean is excited for the day but violent in the night. The ocean wants to be known so it keeps making a sound. It wants the sky to know it's alive because it is so, so in love with it. The ocean is my friend.

Thank you Jesus for this moment and for this day. More than anything, you are my everything. I am alive, and I am in love. In love with the sea, the sky, the words--with all that you are. College is overwhelming, beautiful, confusing, lonely, happy, silly, exciting, and one of the most grand adventures I've ever been on.

College things that make life abundant & full of joy:
~laying on top of a cold cement table, wrapped in blankets and looking at stars and hearing crashing waves with my roommate, sticking our feet towards the sky and talking about life and praying together and laughing together and knowing and experiencing the presence of God together.
~Skyping my family on Sunday mornings, seeing their happy faces and knowing they're okay.
~Riding my bike through the naval base next door, appreciating beautiful seas and expressing quiet gratitude to those who serve.
~Adventuring in Old Town with new friends, eating heavenly homemade tortillas with our fingers, dancing to live Mexican music and laughing the whole time.
~Watching the indescribable sunsets every night after dinner in the caf.
~Playing my harp messily & loudly in my dorm.
~Taking my Bible to the beach and sticking my toes in the sand, smiling to myself and feeling sunshine on my face.
~Laughing uncontrollably with my roomies late at night, already having millions of inside jokes.
~Listening to the ocean, seeing the ocean, feeling the ocean, smelling the ocean, tasting the ocean, dancing in the ocean, kissing the ocean, being the ocean.
~Drinking yummy Harvest Blend tea from Trader Joe's.
~Friday afternoon runs along Sunset Cliffs Boulevard: the endless ocean on one side of me and quaint, succulent-decorated homes on the other side; feeling the ocean breeze on my skin and sweating out the stress.
~Ordering delicious iced coffee and baklava at the most petite coffeeshop about a mile from school that plays classical music and makes me happy while I study.
~Obsessing over Jane Austen and exploring cool places with my new best friend/book soulmate Cynthia.
~Knowing there are a million reasons to be alive, loving and praying and trusting.

~~~

happy happy happy

my pretty roomie and glassy tide pools

I am beyond grateful for my roommates and I love them to death. 

L to R: Hannah, me, Steph, Victoria

we watch sunsets together :)

and party together

sweet Steph and me

weekend adventures with Cynthia :)

Seaport Village

climbing down the cliffs of insanity to our beloved Garbage Beach

falling more in love with the sky every night

My new parish, St. Agnes! 

And yes, that is Mary holding a ship :)

beautiful, artsy Old Town

I'm converting to liking (loving, actually) REAL Mexican food

(sorry CO folks but this stuff is life-changing and impossible to find outside of SoCal, I am convinced)

My new choir buddy/silly best friend Becky :)

Bible time at the beach

sissy and mama came to visit me :) and we got matching drug rugs

:')

Twenty-four oceans, twenty-four skies
Twenty-four failures, twenty-four tries
life is not what I thought it was twenty-four hours ago
Still I'm singing Spirit take me up in arms with you
                                  —Switchfoot

Why I Write

Whatever fills up your time, there you will find art.  Only in the West where we measure artistic success by the number of Twitter followers or likes we get do we believe that real art only happens when it's celebrated by thousands. I say find art in everyday life and you'll begin to speak miraculous and beautiful things on behalf of everyone else who has felt or experienced those same things.

The artist's task is not to be exceptional, but to exceptionally beautify the unexceptional. Finding YOU in the everyday. Be patient with the art of your full-time life. Apply yourself and you'll be mesmerized by what you come up with, and others will be too.  

—Stephen Christian, "The Art Collective" podcast

Last weekend at my grandparent's quiet home in the peaceful paradise of the prairie, I lounged on the recliner on their back porch for four hours straight. I laid out with my notebook, pencil, water, and Red Vines as I did nothing but watch the moving sprinkler slowly roll down the hose. All I could see were pine trees, prairie grass, and yuccas, and it was the most inspired I've felt in a long time. In a place so deprived of internet connection and cell service, I felt a different sort of connection: a connection to my soul, to my inner workings and thinkings and yearnings, and I especially sensed that thing I so long and pray for as a writer: inspiration. Writer's block is so painful. It has got to be one of the most annoying and frustrating things for anyone who wants to be creative. But eventually you come out of it, and it is like seeing the world again for the first time.

character

These past two weeks I've been thinking and reading a lot about the creative process and where inspiration comes from. I'm wondering: Who am I to call myself a writer? All I do is weave together shabby, unconventional, and confusing sentences made up of my feelings and ideas. I'm lame and antisocial and desperate for that little sputter I get in my heart when I feel inspired. I love being creative, but it can be so utterly hard. It comes in waves, and sometimes in the middle of night there's a tsunami and you must, oh you must turn on your light and write down everything in your mind (precisely why I keep a journal beside my bed at night). Writing is my greatest joy and most absolute torment. I understand on a deep level all my artist friends who struggle with being creative and the torture that comes with it. Creativity is a rich, dense, sparkling breath of air, it makes your heart beat faster and your mind expand and dance; but experiencing it and finding it in everyday life requires the artist soul to really unearth and discover its own self in a new way.

What I'm beginning to see is that it doesn't take an introspective, museful mind to unmask the hidden layers of creativity and art in the mundane cycles of our everyday lives. If it invigorates, excites, confuses, disturbs, heals, humors, even bores—it is art of the everyday. So far in my writing "career" I've felt like I've needed to fabricate something exceptional and profound every time for it to be considered art. I would use extravagant, richly adorned metaphors and language to feel like I was bring original, a "true" writer. Well, my purpose as a writer, as I'm beginning to see through outside influences and prayer, is not to be lavish, melodic, or beautiful. My writing does not need to be mind-blowing or bizarre or blindingly fantastic. No, my writing needs to be authentic, and that is that. I have pulled inspiration from so many writers, songs, and people I talk with to be 100 percent "original." Everything I write is made up of bits and pieces of others' works and ideas which have inspired me to write or think the same things in my own way. And maybe that's okay, maybe it's all just a different chord to the same song, the same story told a thousand different ways by every human heart.

classic

"Some writers confuse authenticity, which they ought always to aim at, with originality, which they should never bother about." 

                       —W.H. Auden

When I get caught in measuring up or being better than other writers and bloggers, or heck, even better than my own previous writings, I lose the purpose of why I write in the first place: to capture this beauty, to understand this world, and to feel and understand myself. That's why I have to write everything on paper before I type it up because I know I write differently on a keyboard than with my journal and pencil. I have to be raw and instinctive first, then I can begin to make sense of how I feel. I can't not write. I'm addicted to the therapeutic and exhilarating sensation it gives me. I feel it in my soul, one of the few things besides singing or praying that I actually feel in my soul on an earthly, deep level that leaves me refreshed in the mind and heart. Refreshed, and a little bit more wild.

bygone

Most of my writing no one will ever see and I will probably never read again. But the fact that it is there, that it exists, shows that I am always attempting, and that those words have filled me with deep wonder and sense of self. They have helped shape me as a woman and teller of stories. And I embrace my femininity whole-heartedly as a writer and human in this world. My innate desire to love and care for is what brings me so much inspiration and heartache, but also intimate joy.

"Dear artists, you well know that there are many impulses which, either from within or from without, can inspire your talent. Every genuine inspiration, however, contains some tremor of that 'breath' with which the Creator Spirit suffused the work of creation from the very beginning. Overseeing the mysterious laws governing the universe, the divine breath of the Creator Spirit reaches out to human genius and stirs its creative power." 

—Pope John Paul II in his letter to artists, 1999

Why the Holy Spirit reaches out and stirs my soul is a sublime mystery that I will never understand, but I am so grateful that I won't. The random timing with which God arouses my creativity is proof of His love for me. When inspiration leaves me, I crave it and long for it, like my soul longs for God when I don't feel His presence. So this I know for sure: the Holy Spirit is the genuine and divine inspiration I seek, and if I pray and leave my heart open to His timing and workings, I will never be wanting. He will satisfy every desire in my artist soul more abundantly than I could ever expect. So as I begin my college journey and start my "professional" career as a writer, I will remember what it means for me to truly be a writer at its fullest: which is to allow the Spirit to guide me into the infinite ocean of beauty where wonder becomes unspeakable joy, and passion for my gift leads to humble surrender to my Heavenly Father.

~~~

loving abandoned farm equipment and messy dirt roads

It's hard to not cultivate a creative soul coming from a family like mine. Dad the music artist, mom the painting/drawing/creative artist. So thankful.

4 more days until Loma and saltwater and endlessness.

My heart is incredibly full :)

You have to simply love writing, and you have to remind yourself often that you love it.

                                           --Susan Orlean

More Than My Body

Show me the freedom from these chains
Show me a battlefield that saves
That world is still a world away, but you are my liberty
                                         —Switchfoot

I remember a few weeks before school ended, I was standing with a group of girls before the bell rang as one of them commented about another girl who had just walked by.

"Ooo. Yikes. Her shorts are way too tight. Her butt is totally hanging out."

"Yeah, I know. Geez. She's gained so much weight."

I stood there thinking, as some of them smirked about said girl's weight, who, by the way, wasn't even close to being fat: What if she's healthier? What if she feels better about herself? She has more self-confidence than I've ever had. What if gaining weight is good sometimes?

Even though their comments weren't about me, I felt the personal weight of their words. Since last year, I've gained 20 pounds (so I can have a properly functioning young-woman body), and an all-too-familiar insecure fear began rising within me. Could everyone tell I'd gained weight? What do they think of me because of it? Am I being talked about behind my back too?

As awfully vain as it sounds, and though I'm ashamed of it, these thoughts did (and sometimes still do) run through my head. They come from inner voices that still lurk in the muddy basement of my mind. Voices I think we all experience in different forms sometimes--voices that tell us we're not enough--not skinny enough, smart enough, pretty enough, flawless enough to be accepted and loved by others. Worth nothing. Far too imperfect, so therefore, failures, unlovable.

In 8th grade, I developed a dangerously insecure mindset which allowed these voices to start to influence how I thought about myself. I had this overwhelming need to be perfect—more perfect than everyone else—and I saw how imperfect I was, and decided I needed to change or I would remain unlovable. This isn't to say I didn't have family and friends who loved me, because they did and still do love me very much, but I largely ignored them because I didn't want to believe that I was beautiful. It started when I lost a little weight because of an illness. It gave me an artificial self-confidence to see numbers drop on a scale, so when I got better, I quickly made that my new goal. I started to eat very little and lost weight quickly, even though I wasn't overweight at all. My weight soon dictated my thoughts and feelings. I would weigh myself several times a day, and when the scale read a number I didn't like, I would feel defeated and crushed. Because calories and food were constantly on my mind, it was hard even doing fun things with friends and family because I was so worried that I would eat too much with them or expose my growing disorder.

After a few months of this, I became very unhealthy and underweight. People started to notice how much weight I had lost in that short time. I remember going to the doctor's to get a physical in the summer between middle and high school so I could play high school volleyball. The doctor was very concerned about my weight, and said unless I gained weight, I couldn't play volleyball. I remember feeling so bitter and irritated towards the people who loved me the most and wanted me to get better. I abhorred the idea of gaining weight, so I locked myself in a dark cell of bitterness and self-loathing that summer.

 

I was reluctant to show this picture, but I think it's a necessary part of my story. That was May 2012, when I was at my lowest weight, and then now, July 2016, that I'm at my healthiest weight.

Fast forward to freshman year, and things started to get better. The worst of it was over, and I began to see with a new perspective how unhealthy I'd become. I went on a church retreat for the first time that November, and I confessed to our priest, which was the first time I'd told anyone, about what I was struggling with. He embraced me in love and reminded me of my true identity in Christ. There was no judgement, only understanding and compassion. This gave me a lot of hope, and I decided then and there that I would try with all my might to get better. So that marked the start of my journey towards recovery, especially my mental recovery.

And now, as a college-bound 18-year-old, I'm in a place that my 14-year-old self would have never imagined. I've accomplished and experienced extraordinary things that have absolutely nothing to do with what I weigh or what I look like. My 8th grade self would cringe if I told her I've gained back the weight she tried so hard to lose, but would she cringe if I told her that I made some of her dreams came true: I got my Gold Award, was editor-in-chief of the newspaper, sang in Honors Choir, now have a summer job at the Girl Scouts headquarters, and will be starting school at a beautiful college on the beach this fall, studying her passion? I think she would think that's really cool. I wish I could go back and tell her that she is enough, that God has a plan for her, and that it's her passion—not her appearance—that will give her wings to fly.

Psalm 139:14 Thank you for making me so wonderfully complex! 
Your workmanship is marvelous—how well I know it.

The question that's been hovering over me these past few weeks is this: What do I do with these extra 20 pounds? Do I over-exercise until I fit into those tiny shorts again? Do I start skipping meals so I can again look like those emaciated grunge-era models? Will I delete every photo that I think I look "fat" in, even if it was a happy moment? No. I will do none of these things. I'm not a slave to that anymore.

No, I will give thanks for the 20 pounds I've gained. I will give thanks because my body is functioning how a young woman's body should function. I will give thanks because 20 pounds ago I wouldn't have had the energy to swim for hours with the kids I nanny and ride my bike places instead of driving everywhere. I will give thanks because I can sing and worship in church choir with all my heart without getting lightheaded and needing to sit. I will give thanks because I can lift and move heavy boxes and bags around my office job and in my house without feeling like I'm going to collapse. I will give thanks because I can eat a big bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream late at night on the back patio with my sister, and instead of feeling guilty over calories, I will feel happy and content from crying-laughing at inside jokes and having meaningful conversations. I will give thanks because these 20 pounds have helped me discover an inner beauty in me I never saw before because I was distracted by the mirror and scale. The truth is, my body is the healthiest it's been in years, and I don't need a scale to know that, because I can tell by the way I'm starting to live. Skinny does not equal beautiful, nor does it always equal healthy.

"Get off the scale! I have yet to see a scale that can tell you how enchanting your eyes are. I have yet to see a scale that can show you how wonderful your hair looks when the sun shines rays on it. I have yet to see a scale that can thank you for your compassion, sense of humor, and contagious smile...The scale cannot measure beauty, talent, purpose, life force, possibility, strength or love. Don't give the scale more power than it has earned. Take note of the number, then get off the scale and live your life. You are beautiful!" —Steve Maraboli

I am more than my body. I am more than my accomplishments, more than even my own personality. I have God living and breathing within me, and this makes me more than myself. It's a beautiful mystery to know that we are both human and divine, "partakers of divine nature" (2 Pet. 1-4) and have the God who makes all things new constantly making us new. You are more than enough. You are significant and have a sacred, necessary purpose in this world, and this purpose is not to obsess over your body. We are meant for far more holy, far more extraordinary and profound callings. Let the truth of Christ's words sink deep into the bruises on your heart.

I love you little rose, I love you more than you can fathom. Remember your body is my temple, my dwelling place, so sacred and beautiful to me. But even more than that is the beauty of your heart, more beautiful than a thousand roses. When you are tempted to weigh or scrutinize your appearance, remember that what matters is your heart, your zest for life, your passions—the things that make you colorful and vibrant as I want you to be. You are my beloved, my most holy daughter. Your past is wiped away. Do not settle for anyone who doesn't see the beauty in your flower heart. Look to me always, and know you are treasured, made new, unfathomably priceless.

I realize this will be a lifelong battle for me, but I know that with Christ at the center of my life, those insecure thoughts and temptations will never take hold of me like they once did. In order to stay grounded I have to constantly ask myself, Where am I looking for acceptance? And if the answer is in other's words, or society, or boys, or friends, or anything but God, I know I need to reconsider. I am no longer a lurking, unworthy reflection of a distorted society. I am a revolution. Free to eat and enjoy the food that God meant for us to enjoy. Free to run, free to smile, free to love my body for what it is: a temple for Christ.

As scary as it was for me to write and share this post, I pray that my story will encourage anyone who has ever struggled with body image and self-love. You are beautiful. You are His beloved, and He calls you by name. Even on your worst days. I understand the battle, but I also know that you will overcome, because Christ already overcame. He already won this battle for you, so wave your victory flag, and dance in the freedom of knowing you are immeasurably loved.

For freedom Christ has set us free; stand firm therefore, 

and do not submit again to the yoke of slavery. 

                                       —Gal. 5:1

If a little flower could speak, it seems to me that it would tell us quite simply 

all that God has done for it, without hiding any of its gifts.

                                  —St. Therese of Lisieux

~~~

I bought myself a fancy amateur Canon SX530 HS

so I can be a true backpack journalist ;) 

I suck but I'm having fun so it's okay to suck!

sheepies

sista iz rlly coot

Cherry Creek Art Fest was a whimsical time

adrift with just a tutu and her everyday tiara

*same*

We are not some casual and meaningless product of evolution.

Each one of us is willed, each of us is loved, each of us is necessary.

                                      --Pope Emetrius Benedict XVI